


Hot Chocolate

by ButtKickingForGoodness



Series: Time and the World do not Stand Still [3]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Herschel being Herschel, in the best of ways, internalized abelism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 01:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButtKickingForGoodness/pseuds/ButtKickingForGoodness
Summary: Sammy sets down the knife and picks up the note.





	Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> This is Very Different from how I first picture this scene... but I think this works better.

Sammy shivers and tries to nestle deeper into the thick scarf bundled around his neck. The cold wind bites at the exposed skin of his face, and he clumsily fumbles with his keys before shoving the door open. He kicks the snow away from where it’s encroaching on the entryway and nearly stumbles over a small package buried in the snow. Frowning, he tucks the package under his arm and quickly shuts the door behind him.

The package is heavily swaddled in plastic to keep out the moisture, and Sammy can’t find a shipping label anywhere. Frowning, Sammy sets it down on the counter and shucks his winter gear, wincing as the scarf catches on the bandage covering the cut on his jaw. He hadn’t nicked himself this badly while shaving in a long time, but that’s what he gets for deciding to risk it yesterday despite how bad his tremors had been.

Freed from the bulky layers, Sammy rubs his hands together and sticks them in his armpits in an attempt to warm them up and slow the shaking. He regards the mysterious package apprehensively before grabbing a pocketknife and carefully peeling back the first layer of plastic. It doesn’t exactly look harmless, but it’s not quite threatening enough for him to feel comfortable calling Deputy Troy.

Nothing happens, and he continues the excavation, eventually revealing a cardboard box with a note taped to the top of it. Sammy sets down the knife and picks up the note.

_Shotgun_, it reads, and Sammy’s stomach plummets. He really does not have the ability to deal with a stalker fan right now. He has to place the note flat on the table to keep it steady enough to read. _I haven’t said anything about it, because a man’s business is his own, but you’re not the only one fighting his own body right now. _Sammy recognizes the tone and the dense, practiced cursive and collapses into the chair, almost laughing with relief. _These were given to me the day I married my dear, sweet Edna by one of the greatest men I ever had the pleasure to serve with. They did me a world of good, even on my bad days, and they ought to do the same for you. Treat them right, and they’ll keep going long after you and I – well. For a long goddamn time. The hot chocolate is extra. Light a fire, have a mug, maybe a marshmallow or two. Put some meat on those bones, you look like a goddamn twig. _

_Merry Fucking Christmas,_

_ Herschel F Baumgartner._

Sammy opens the box. A mason jar full of what is presumably the hot chocolate rests on top of a glossy cigar case. Putting down the note, Sammy opens the jar. The smell of hot chocolate settles in the air mixed with something Sammy thinks is cinnamon. He screws the lid back on and opens the case. The front half has a fancy leather box, and back half is full of small glass bottles of what looks like ink and several sheets of paper with handwritten notes on them. Sammy cautiously pulls out the box and opens it.

Nestled inside are three gleaming black pens, carefully laid out side by side. The biggest is nearly six inches long and the width of his forefinger. Sammy gently removes it from the box. It’s unexpectedly heavy, but Sammy is even more surprised when he pulls off the cap to reveal the two-toned nib of a fountain pen. It is obvious, even to Sammy, that this is a _very_ nice pen. Somewhat uncomfortable, Sammy carefully sets the pen back down and examines the other two. While they share the same black body, gold trim, and odd white blob on the rounded end of the cap, a closer examination reveals the second to be a ballpoint pen and the third to be a mechanical pencil.

Filled with a sudden curiosity, Sammy grabs a nearby notepad and uncaps the fountain pen. It’s noticeably heavy, but it feels somehow right in his hand. He starts to write some nonsense about the weather, but he stops after just a few words. His writing is… surprisingly legible. The weight of the pen settles into his hand and into the nib, keeping it steady on the paper even as he can feel the minute movements in his wrist. Disbelieving, Sammy starts writing again, and the results are exactly the same. The to-do list penciled across the top of the page is generally legible, but most of the letters are wobbly in the straight lines and distorted in the curves. Beneath that, the pen seems crystal clear. It’s not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it is significantly better. Sammy’s eyes start to water, and he quickly caps the pen. Wiping away the start of a tear, Sammy gets up and flicks on the kettle. Herschel is going to get the absolute best Christmas card that Sammy can muster.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Herschel is hard to write, you guys.


End file.
